


Too Bad (About Your Girl)

by vipjuly



Series: Undisclosed Pleasures [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Dean Does Karaoke, M/M, Power Bottom Castiel, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Dean dedicates his song of the night to the mysterious man with a date that, unfortunately for her (and fortunately for Dean), he looks entirely uninterested in. It's the first time Dean doesn't stick around to finish his own song, because Eyeliner & Tattoos wastes no time in sweeping him off his feet and giving him the ride of his life.





	Too Bad (About Your Girl)

**Author's Note:**

> Song: "Too Bad" - The Donnas  
> i've never written ~song fic~ before but hey, this came to me and i just had to do what i had to do, y'know.  
> fighting writer's block for TEA.  
> happily jumping on the bandwagon of cas being covered in tattoos and wearing gratuitous amounts of guyliner  
> *unedited, sue me for errors

Kohl-lined eyes and inky black tattoos catch Dean’s gaze from where he’s up on stage. Normally he can’t see details in the crowd, the lights shining on him from overhead limiting his range to the first few rows of people standing. Inside the bar it’s not like there’s the biggest crowd on the planet, but it’s enough to jam out to karaoke, where Dean’s got the microphone in his hand and a guitar riff starting in the background. Normally all sorts of women are clamoring at the front, dancing to the songs he picks, cheering for him when he hits those impressive notes with his rough, honey voice - but tonight his attention is snagged by Tall Dark and Handsome leaning against the bar, next to a stool instead of sitting on it.

Eyeliner & Tattoos seems to feel Dean’s eyes, because smokey blue eyes turn to hold them. Dean pretends like his breath doesn’t hitch but _oh damn_ , the guy’s intense. The microphone is cradled on the stand and Dean slides one hand down the length of the metal pole, his other hand cupping the microphone as he leans forward, putting his mouth to the mic and starting to sing a song that he’s yet to debut on Wednesday Night Karaoke.

_Waitin’ all night_  
Not a call in sight  
I got the bait but I got no bite 

At a corner booth Dean’s friends cheer and whistle - they’ve been requesting a female rock band for months, and it took Dean a while to find one that could firstly suit his vocal talents, and secondly, give him a song that he could really get into. Can’t call him misogynistic, ok? He likes female rock artists too. Granted, those cassettes are tucked into a different box in the Impala, but he still has them. Prefers to enjoy them privately, but he knew his friends had a point when they accused him of not partaking in the joys of the opposite sex, musically.

His foot taps to the staccato beat of the opening of the song, playfully sliding his gaze around the crowd as he sings, even though his eyes keep drifting back to Eyeliner & Tattoos. There’s a woman occupying the stool next to him now and Dean could laugh if it wouldn’t ruin the song. The perfect song. _The_ song to sing at this exact moment.

_Wanna have some fun_  
Wanna have someone  
Who can make me feel alright 

Charlie’s loud “WHOOOOOO YEAAAAAH!!!” in the background has Dean smiling through the words, and he’s thankful he left his beer on the table because he can’t resist sliding one hand up and down the microphone stand while he starts swaying gently to the beat, slowly at first. Emerald green meets royal blue again and Dean sends the next words to the hot guy in the back, definitely aware of the way the woman is trying to get his attention to talk to her. The man, to his credit, leans slightly into her so she can talk into his ear, but those smokey eyes never leave Dean’s, and they definitely dip down to the suggestive way Dean is caressing the mic stand.

_I’m lookin’ at you_  
You’re lookin’ at me too  
Yeah you know what I wanna do 

Eyeliner & Tattoos’s gaze lids a little, lava flooding ice, his companion threading her arms through one of his. Dean’s gaze flickers a little, taking in the worn band t-shirt and the ribbons of ink (are they patterns? Pictures? God, he wants to know) that wind down tanned, firm biceps and forearms and even onto his hands and knuckles, punctuated by silver jewelry decorating his wrists and fingers. Eyeliner & Tattoos tilts his head away from the woman sightly, putting a fraction of space between their bodies, even as she worms her way closer. Dean can’t see her expression - hell, he doesn’t even know what color her hair is - and he knows by her body language that she’s itching to get out of here. If Dean were in her place, he’d wanna go somewhere more private with Eyeliner & Tattoos, too.

_But your girlfriend_  
Wants the night to end  
Baby tell me somethin’ new 

Dean pulls the mic away from his face so he can take a breath before the chorus, tearing his gaze away from the man for a moment to make sure that his voice doesn’t come out too thick. This band’s singer doesn’t really yell, her voice more throaty than raspy, and Dean always does his best to mimic the original singer’s voice whenever he does karaoke. He brings the mic back a second later and belts into it, legs spread and bent at the knees, both hands on the microphone as his heel taps along to the beat.

_It’s too bad about your girl_  
She doesn’t look like she’s much fun  
It’s too bad you got a date tonight  
‘Cause you’re lookin’ like you’re the one 

The smile on Dean’s features is all teeth even though his eyes are sharp and focused; even when he’s not looking directly at the man on the edge of the crowd, he still catches him in his periphery. Sure enough, the words of the song have one-hundred percent caught the man’s attention now, his date’s body language changing from impatient to annoyed. She must be really dim if she can’t see the way Eyeliner & Tattoos is devouring Dean on stage with his eyes.

Eventually the woman pulls away from the man and stalks off, slinking towards the end of the bar serving drinks. Dean drinks up the bridge of the song, nodding his head and moving to the beat with his body, looking like the rockstar he so desperately wanted to be when he was younger. The beat softens a little and Dean is back on the mic, wrapping his fingers one by one around the stand, loving how Eyeliner & Tattoos’s gaze dips down to follow the movement. The woman returns to the man with two beers and honestly, Dean is going to laugh about the perfection of this moment for the rest of his life. He makes sure he has eye contact with the hot stranger, his voice dripping with sex as he sings the next verse.

_She left but now she’s back, sticking out her rack_  
She’s got you runnin’ down the wrong track  
Can’t wait to see her face, when I’m in her place  
And I’m tryna get you in the sack 

No one will probably comment on the fact that Dean Winchester is singing a song so obviously about stealing a man - normally his songs stay a solid two on the Kinsey scale - because anyone who’s anyone knows that Dean is notoriously bisexual, even if the songs he sings don’t always reflect it. Why limit yourself to one team?, he always asks when people seem surprised. Those words are almost always accompanied by a wolfish grin, and his promiscuous reputation typically lets people fill in the blanks on their own. Tonight, though, Dean had chosen the song at first for the fun of it - but now the song has a strange… _purpose_ , and Dean will be damned if he doesn’t get into Eyeliner & Tattoos’s pants when the night is done.

He falls into the chorus easily, letting his eyes track around the bar to find his friends. They’re still hooting and hollering, Charlie singing along with the words that she knows, obnoxiously pointing at Jo - talk about unresolved sexual tension - and Dean manages to point at them, winking as he sings, enjoying the way the table roars in commotion. Rotating back, the song dips and Dean pulls the microphone off of the stand totally, holding the stand off to the side with an extended arm, bending slightly as he sings purposefully into the mic, turning on The Smolder as he looks directly at Eyeliner & Tattoos.

_Tell her to leave_  
Soon it'll be too late  
It's like New Year's Eve  
'Cause I just can't wait 

He thinks he sees the man’s breath hitch, and Dean is working the microphone back into its little clip holder, singing the next words like a mantra.

_Too bad_  
You got a date tonight!  
Too bad about your girl  
Yeah, it's too bad  
You got a date tonight!  
Too bad about your girl 

The guitar riff blares and Dean pulls away to lay down some expert air guitar, headbanging and hopping around on stage. He’s got a lot of energy and he’s always a massive dork whenever he karaokes, seduction status or not. A glance at Eyeliner & Tattoos shows that the man is still interested, but now the woman is _tugging_ on his arm, forcing his gaze to turn to her. Wow, even his look of annoyance is hot, his brows furrowing and his lips thinning. Dean finishes up his little guitar solo and goes back to the mic, wrapping both hands around the stand and pressing his lips close, now not even hiding the fact that he’s been focusing on a single person for the entirety of the song. He knows he sees Charlie’s head whip the direction of his gaze, anyway. 

_If you were smart, you'd send her home on BART_  
Before the real trouble starts  
'Cause who's she gonna slap when she sees me in your lap  
And you say you had a change of heart 

Eyeliner & Tattoos hears the words on blast and he’s finally pulling bodily away from his companion, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her out of his personal space. Dean sees his lips move to say something, sees the woman’s shoulders slump, and then he’s pleased as punch to see Eyeliner & Tattoos walk away from the rejected woman, making his way through the crowd and towards the stage. Dean’s grin widens tenfold, feeling the energy thrumming through his veins with each step the man takes, blue eyes focused with intent and… destruction.

God, Dean wants this man to destroy him.

_I gotta make you mine but we're runnin outta time_  
But she's got you guarded like the Guggenheim  
It's all that I can take, let's make a jailbreak  
Or we'll be doin' time in Anaheim! 

Dean can’t finish the song at all because now the man is up at the stage, reaching a hand up towards him. Abandoning the mic and the song for the very first time since he started karaoke four years ago, Dean takes the man’s hand and hops off the stage, groaning when he’s pulled into a solid chest and the man’s free hand slides down to grab at Dean’s ass.

“How about you sit on my lap, now?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean can’t come up with a coherent reply, because Eyeliner & Tattoos has the voice of a _sex god_ , the gravel of it chasing goosebumps down Dean’s spine. Dean’s hands move to the man’s firm chest, starting to push him back through the crowd - ignoring everyone’s hoots, both from his friends and his strangers - and then he starts steering the man towards the door. “Tell me you live close.”

“Three blocks,” the man replies, and he’s still walking backwards thanks to Dean, but the smile on his lips is devilish, straight white teeth looking almost sharp. “What’s your name?”

“Tonight?” Dean grabs the man’s hands so he can change their direction, now leading the man with joined fingers as they exit the bar together. He flashes a smile over his shoulder, “Tonight I’m yours.”

The man wastes no time in crowding up against Dean’s back, arms wrapped around his torso, palms skating up over his pecs. Teeth sink into the curve of Dean’s neck and he has to stifle a whimper, nearly stumbling over his feet. “Tell me your name.” That sinful voice commands. “I need something to call you as I claim you.”

The breathless laugh that strangles out of Dean’s throat would embarrass him during any other occasion, but he figures he’s allowed a reprieve, what with this god molesting him in the parking lot as he steers Dean’s stumbling feet towards a street that leads towards a neighborhood.

“Dean,” he finally replies.

The man extricates himself from Dean’s back and falls into step with him, though an arm slings around Dean’s shoulders to bring him firmly into his side, not giving the illusion at all of innocent intentions. He leans in so his lips can brush Dean’s ear as he says, “You’ll be screaming ‘Castiel’.”

Jesus. The guy even has an exotic name to match and Dean slings an arm around the man’s lower back, allowing their bodies to press tightly together, their feet and knees knocking together occasionally from how close they’re walking. “I bet.”

Other than walking so close together people might think there’s some weird mutant walking down the shadowed streets, Castiel doesn’t touch Dean otherwise. Doesn’t grope him, doesn’t kiss him or manhandle him. It’s not that Dean’s disappointed - he’s sure this man will do anything but disappoint him - but he’s definitely surprised, because he can feel Castiel’s self-control bursting at the seams. Dean hadn’t even had a chance to see the look on his date’s face when he abandoned her and scooped up Dean, but he knows that if he texts Charlie later she’ll give him the full deets on the aftermath of the infamous Dean Winchester leaving with a stranger before his song even finished.

Castiel lives in a quadroplex, and thankfully on the bottom level. He unlocks the door with surprising grace and control and Dean follows him inside - he’s about to ask if Castiel has nosy neighbors, but Castiel slams the door shut and then pins Dean against it, mouth hot hungry and heavy as it devours Dean fully. Dean lets out a whimper, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the already tangled mess of Castiel’s dark hair, pulling and tugging slightly, enjoying the way Castiel growls in response and presses up against him. He’s pretty sure he can’t breathe and that he might die of asphyxia but he’s pretty sure that if he’s gonna go, this is exactly how he wants it to be. Castiel’s mouth leaves his with a sharp nip to Dean’s lower lip and Dean can taste the metallic tang of blood when he passes his tongue over the bite; he groans, knocking his head back against the door as Castiel’s mouth starts to travel down.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean pants out. His cock is already fuck hard and pressing uncomfortably against the front of his jeans, his hips rocking slightly to try and find some friction.

Castiel replies by rucking up Dean’s flannel, exposing his ribs and his stomach, the sound of Dean’s belt clanking drowned out by Castiel’s dark words. “I hope you don’t have any plans tomorrow.”

“What…” Dean gets sidelined a little by that, blinking bleary eyes as his belt falls to the floor with a clank and Castiel’s fingers slip past the fastenings of his jeans and directly into his boxers, fingertips sliding over the length of Dean’s trapped dick.

He can hear the smirk in Castiel’s voice as the man drops to his knees, and Dean can barely focus his gaze as he looks down at him. “You won’t be able to walk for a while.”

Before Dean can realize what’s happening, let alone process those promising words, Castiel pushes his pants and boxers down to his knees so he can grip his erection and wrap his lips around the tip. Dean lets out a litany of curses and tangles his fingers in Castiel’s hair again as the other man starts enthusiastically sucking him down, stubbled cheeks hollowed with suction and eyes closed in delight. He doesn’t seem to mind Dean’s grabby hands and Dean takes full advantage, unable to keep his hands still even if he tried. Castiel sucks Dean’s cock like it’s providing oxygen to his lungs and Dean is pretty confident in his endurance, but Castiel is threatening to tip him into the land of the premature.

“Fuck, fuck,” Dean pants out, now tugging on Castiel’s hair to try and get him to pull off his cock. “Fuck, you’re so hot, Cas- I’m not gonna last.”

Blue eyes look up at Dean through dark lashes and smudged liner and Castiel pulls back with a chuckle. Spit dribbles down his chin, his lips pink from stretching, and then Castiel stands up to kiss Dean silly once more, forcing the other man to taste himself on his tongue. Dean’s into it, anyway. Castiel’s fingers move up to start undoing Dean’s flannel, pushing it off his shoulders and tugging at the hem of the shirt underneath until Dean pulls far away enough from the door to toss it all aside, and then Castiel goes back to worshiping Dean’s skin with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Dean can’t remember the last time he’s been properly ravished like this - he struggles to think if he ever has. His hands seem to catch up to his brain and he helps Castiel out of his tshirt, and Dean thunks his head back against the door so he can fully take in Castiel, eyes raking over the exposed skin.

Castiel is _covered_ in tattoos. Most of them are words in a language that Dean can’t even begin to pronounce, and a lot of them are ancient runes and ribbons winding over the few curves and many sharp planes of Castiel’s tight, stacked body. The man is more fit than Dean, but he can’t give his own body much thought - he doesn’t work out but being a contractor keeps him broad and firm, even if there’s a lingering stubborn inch of pudge around his belly - because Castiel is devouring him with his eyes as much as he did his mouth. Dean lets out a breath and allows Castiel to take his hands and start pulling him down the hallway, no doubt towards the bedroom. Their lips are fused together, teeth clacking, clothes leaving a breadcrumb trail behind them before they finally fall into Castiel’s bed. On his back, Dean scoots up against the headboard, relishing in the firmness of Castiel’s body as he straddles him, rocking their hard cocks together, the velvety, dry slide ripping a moan from deep within Dean’s chest. 

“You’re stunning,” Castiel praises, his voice thick. He’s commanding and powerful and Dean has never felt this turned on, or submissive, in his life. Castiel is like a panther on the prowl and Dean willfully submits, baring his neck in a manner he’s never thought to do so. Immediately Castiel dips down to nip and bite along it, inhaling Dean’s scent through his nose and breathing words on his exhale, “I’m going to wreck you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Dean whines, and maybe later he’ll think about being embarrassed at his unraveling, but right now he can’t be bothered to care.

Castiel reaches towards his nightstand to dig in the drawer, producing a condom and a bottle of lube. He pulls away so he can look down at Dean, his smooth palms sliding over Dean’s collarbones and down over the swell of his pecs, thumbs brushing his nipples. Dean arches into the touch and presses his head back into the pillows, nipples hardening and cock giving an interested twitch. Castiel starts undulating his body above Dean, his lean muscles flexing, sinewy and strong under his inked skin, and Dean lets his eyes eat him up. 

Tattoos sprawl over Castiel’s shoulders, down his arms and chest, artful around his hips and most likely winding around to the man’s back. Dean recognizes some latin, some Egyptian symbols, more runes, and a few choice black and white images from the bible, and his gaze dips further to soak up the sight of the sink curling around the base of Castiel’s cock, the skin clear of any hair and looking smooth to the touch. So, Dean touches. The rough pads of his fingertips slide over Castiel’s pubic bone and it’s inherently obvious that the man waxes. Precum leaks from Dean’s cock at the discovery. His fingers dip down to cup Castiel’s sac, squeezing gently and rolling the flesh around in his palm and Castiel seems infinitely patient, allowing Dean to touch and explore him. The ink sprawls down Castiel’s hairless legs and Dean has never given extra thought to manscaping, but _damn_ , if he isn’t paying attention now. 

“Lie back and relax,” Castiel murmurs, Dean’s attention flicking back up towards his face. Castiel’s words are soft but his eyes are sharp, dark and focused, and Dean nods with a thick swallow as he sinks back into the pillows, his palms now skating over the thick firmness of Castiel’s thighs. 

With a grin that would make the Devil himself blush, Castiel scoots back a little towards Dean’s thighs. He’s graceful as he rotates, turning his back towards Dean so he can shift into reverse cowgirl; Dean loses his breath. Gnarled, mangled black wings cover the expanse of Castiel’s shoulder blades, the flight feathers angling down his spine towards the wine glass dimples on the small of his black. The tattoo is black, like the rest on his body, but when he shifts the light catches a gleam of gossamer midnight blue, and Dean’s eyes are probably playing tricks on him because it looks like the wings _ruffle_. But the blue hue is there, obviously designed to only show under certain lighting, or - Dean touches Castiel’s back with reverent fingers - yes, with moisture. Brilliant. Where there aren’t wings or feathers there are more unknown symbols, sigils of some sort that Dean only faintly recognizes because of the weird cult shows he catches Charlie watching sometimes.

His attention gets pulled from the beautiful image in front of him with Castiel grabs the bottle of lube and slicks up his fingers. Dean opens his mouth to say something but the words get punched out of him when Castiel immediately fucks two fingers into his own hole; his legs are spread, knees on either side of Dean’s thighs, one hand bracing himself on top of Dean’s knee, and his back arches with grace as he drops his head back in a moan. Dean’s going to short-circuit. Holy shit, how is he supposed to last with what he’s starting to think is a literal incubus on his lap? But Castiel gives Dean a show, clearly into taking his time, his fingers scissoring his body open with finesse. Dean sees flashes of pink, sees the way Castiel’s rim works open, sees the wetness glimmering in the light from the lamp, and he sees Castiel’s balls hanging heavy, smooth. It’s the perfect view and Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s hips, thumbs pressing into those pretty wine glass dimples, enjoying the way that Castiel rolls his body to try and get more of his own fingers as well as Dean’s touch. 

“Dean,” Castiel _mewls_ , his low voice pitched and breathy. “Condom.”

Spurred into action like a man waking from a dream, Dean reaches for the condom and tears it open, rolling the rubber down his neglected cock. He hisses at the sensation - he’d been so enraptured by Castiel’s show that he hadn’t even thought of touching himself to pass the time. Mostly because he’s too afraid that he’ll bust as soon as he gives himself any pleasure. His heart is thundering in his ears in an irregular pattern and this is as good a time as any to suddenly develop palpitations. Castiel sends a demure glance over his shoulder, his eyeliner smudged even more than before, cheeks flushed high on the bone. Dean is gonna have to ask later if Castiel is a professional dancer, because the way he moves back on Dean’s lap without making any awkward bumping or fumbling is truly art.

Castiel is a work of art.

The head of Dean’s covered cock bumps against Castiel’s stretched hole and for a moment Dean is concerned that the man only used two fingers, but hey, he’s not necessarily in the know for what Castiel needs to prep. He’ll have to trust Castiel in the way that he’s being trusted. Gripping the base of his cock to keep it steady Dean leaves his other hand on Castiel’s hip, helping to guide him - he pops past the rim and he almost passes out, the tight heat nearly deep frying his brain. Castiel lowers himself down until Dean’s bottomed out, and Dean, totally gone, lets his hands caress Castiel’s ass before sliding down over his claves, palms resting over the soles of his feet. There’s the briefest moment of stillness - of their breaths syncing up and their bodies melting into one another - and then Castiel is lifting himself only to drop back down into Dean’s lap.

“Fuck,” Dean swears, white hot pleasure nearly blinding him. 

Castiel sets up a rhythm of rocking, using the leverage of being basically on his hands and knees to pull nearly completely off of Dean’s cock before rocking backwards to swallow him up again. Watching the way Castiel’s spine elongates, arches and rolls has Dean thinking that this is it. Sex with anyone else is ruined. He’ll never be the same. Castiel’s presence is soaking into Dean’s entire being through his dick, a fire snaking its way through his veins and yeah, Dean could definitely be ok if this is how he dies.

Muscles flexing under tanned, inked skin look too good not to touch, so Dean does. He’s never touched someone so thoughtfully, so carefully, so worshipful in his entire life. Fingers trace over feathers, play Castiel’s ribs like a piano, before Dean finally finds the strength to sit up, arms wrapping around Castiel’s chest. Castiel lets out an appreciative moan as he straightens his back, reaching back behind him to grip Dean’s hair in one of his hands. His other hand grabs one of Dean’s and slides it down the front of his body, guiding Dean’s fingers to wrap around the base of his hard cock. At this angle Castiel sinks further down onto Dean’s cock, but at this angle Dean can’t move at all. Fully seated Castiel’s hips start gyrating, grinding, working in tight circles. It’s filthy. Dean can feel every millimeter of Castiel’s insides, this way. He presses his forehead into the center of Castiel’s back, closing his eyes, panting, before he finally finds another ounce of strength.

He’s not nearly as graceful as Castiel but he makes do, Castiel following sinuously as Dean gets his legs under him, working them into a new position of lying Castiel down on his stomach, Dean looming over his back, his cock never leaving the tight, warm confines of Castiel’s ass. Propping himself up with his palms on either side of Castiel’s head, Dean’s knees make their way to the outside of Castile’s thighs, pressing the man fully down into the covers. It takes way more strength than Dean thinks he’s capable of to thrust into Castiel this way, keeping the man’s thighs squeezed together to tighten his channel, but today is a day of surprises for Dean, because he miraculously _does_ find the strength to keep his pace. And Castiel loves the angle, if his fucked out moans and noises are anything to go by.

Adjusting his plank, Dean starts hammering into Castiel. His hips slap against the curve of Castiel’s glorious, perfect ass, tilting his chin down to his chest so he can watch the way the flesh ripples every time he fucks against it. Castiel squirms and gets his arms underneath himself, pushing his chest up off of the bed; Dean rewards him by biting at his neck when it comes within reach, Castiel groaning low and appreciative. A bit more shifting and Castiel gets his hips and knees up, Dean slowing down his thrusting to allow Castiel to control the position. They end with Castiel lying on his side, one of his long legs draped over Dean’s shoulders, both of Dean’s hands on the extended thigh to keep it tight to his chest as he starts to drive into Castiel with renewed vigor. This way he can see Castiel’s face, their eyes caught; from his face being shoved into the blankets Castiel’s eyeliner is a true fucking mess now, the kohl smeared under his eyes and down his cheeks and instead of looking like a cheap whore Castiel looks elegant and in his element. 

Dean definitely knows he won’t last much longer. Castiel grasps his own cock and starts jerking it in tight, quick strokes, finally closing his eyes and pressing the side of his face into the mattress as he allows Dean to take control and fuck into him. When Castiel comes he crests with his whole body - instead of seizing up he crashes with the grace and intensity of a waterfall, his orgasm wracking tremors through his frame, Dean’s name falling from his lips like a cry of the filthiest prayer. Caught up in the awe of what’s happening before him Dean’s body chases orgasm and he spills into the condom, keeping Castiel’s thigh tight against his body as he rides it out. He presses his cheek to Castiel’s muscular calf, eyes lidded as he tries to catch his breathing, taking in the sight of the debauched beauty below him. Castiel covered in his own come, blue eyes bright under the black mess of eyeliner, hair devastated even though Dean had barely touched it.

Chewing his lower lip, Dean braces Castiel gently before he pulls out. Castiel’s body falls gracefully to relax and Dean pulls the condom off, tying it up and peering over the bed to try and find a trash can.

“Bathroom,” Castiel’s gravelly voice supplies. 

On wobbly legs Dean stands, making his way to the door that doesn’t leave the bedroom, opening it up to find a modest en suite. He trashes the condom and grabs the wash cloth from the towel rack, wetting it with warm water before returning to the bed. This part is usually clinical and impersonal, but Dean finds himself rolling Castiel onto his back and gently spreading his legs so he can clean him up with care. There’s even ink on the insides of the soft flesh of Castiel’s thighs and Dean marvels at what pain tolerance it must have took in order to get all of these tattoos. He makes quick work of cleaning himself up and tosses the wash cloth in the hamper in the bathroom, and when he catches sight of Castiel resting upside down on his queen size bed, Dean can’t help but chuckle.

“Your pillows are on the other end,” Dean supplies helpfully, as he glances around the room. Ah, there’s his underwear. He bends to grab the material, knowing full well the rest of his clothes, including his socks, are somewhere in the hallway leading up to the front door.

Castiel moves like a lazy cat to lie properly on the bed, still not under the covers. He watches Dean with unguarded curiosity. “Where are you going?”

Dean freezes, guilt flashing through him. “Uh- ...home?”

Castiel’s eyes squint and narrow, like Dean is speaking some kind of foreign language. “Why?” 

Unsure as to the answer, Dean glances around Castiel’s room. Now that he’s not preoccupied he sees the modern gothic decor, deep crimsons and blacks, and finds that it suits Castiel very well. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, Dean shrugs, trying for ‘amused and aloof’. “Do you ask every one night stand for a sleepover?” 

“Considering I don’t do one night stands, no.”

Dean’s brows raise, “You don’t?”

The smirk that unfurls on Castiel’s face is too close to the cat that got the cream, “You don’t want to do that again in the morning?”

Dean can’t help the wolfish grin on his lips. “Hell yeah I do.”

“Then shut off the light, get naked, and join me,” Castiel gruffs as he finally decides to get underneath the covers.

Following the instructions to a T, Dean climbs into bed and lets out a satisfied rumble when Castiel turns to curl up into his chest. Wrapping his arms around the tattooed man Dean grins as Castiel tucks his head under his chin, closing his eyes and enjoying the smell of sex, shampoo, and something decidedly… _Cas_.

A deep chuckle grabs Dean’s attention, Castiel’s words muffled against his chest.

“Tonight was the best worst first date of my life.”

Dean thinks to the woman who had been at the bar with Castiel and he finds himself smiling huge, returning his own chuckle as he squeezes Castiel to his chest. 

“Fuck yeah it was.”

**Author's Note:**

> keep me motivated w/ comments and kudos, tysm  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) is pretty bitchin'


End file.
